


Instant Regret

by WorseOmens



Series: Good Omens Outsider POVs [16]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: AZ Fell & Co, Angelic true form mention, Aziraphale’s Bookshop, M/M, Scary Aziraphale, Snake Crowley, You don’t always need an angelic light show to be frightening, attempted burglary, intimidating silence, outsider pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:35:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23496883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WorseOmens/pseuds/WorseOmens
Summary: AZ Fell & Co looks like a soft target for a burglary... in theory, at least.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley, The Ineffable Husbands - Relationship
Series: Good Omens Outsider POVs [16]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1545919
Comments: 70
Kudos: 915





	Instant Regret

**Author's Note:**

> This fic includes Rover, Crowley’s hellhound from the book :)

Everyone falls on hard times now and then, especially if you lived in London. It wasn’t exactly high-class living at the best of times, for most, and when it was bad, it was awful. Joe knew that very well. He’d been low, and he swore he wasn’t going back, so he kept his finances topped up using the most stable money-making scheme he could dream up: petty crime. 

When he saw that next month’s rent would swallow half his ill-gotten savings, he began looking for his next score. It only took a few minutes online before he stumbled across the perfect place: AZ Fell & Co.

The shop had no website of its own, but it was one of the first things that popped up when he began to search for shops in the Soho area. The infamous shop was plastered all over antiques forums; it was rumoured to house many, many expensive manuscripts and historical documents, highly sought-after by collectors. That piqued his interest. The building looked old, without a camera in sight, and he wasn’t even certain the windows had locks. Judging by the reviews, the bloke running it was probably mad. He found story after story about his neurotic commitment never to sell a book, and seeing as he was often referred to as “Old Mr Fell”, Joe came to the conclusion fairly swiftly that he must be senile. _Perfect,_ he thought with a grin. _The old coot won’t even know what hit him._

He waited until late one December evening, when night-time drew in early, and he could observe the shop without drawing too much attention. The building already looked empty when he arrived. He watched it for half an hour or more. Nothing stirred. Curious, he approached a window, trying to peer in through the murky, grime-clouded glass. He didn’t notice any shapes moving inside, though it was almost impossible to tell, even with his hand cupped against the glass. Someone could be staring at him on the other side, even an inch from the glass, and he’d probably never know. Unnerved by that thought, he drew away. 

He went back to sit in his car. It was now pitch black, and the shop was still dark. Was anyone even in? 

“Can’t be this easy, surely...” he murmured, looking up at the dark, impassive face of the bookshop. 

He could only bear to wait another five minutes before he cracked. Gripping his lock picks in his pocket, he jogged over the road, his hood drawn up around his face. He glanced around. No one was there. He knelt by the door, cursing the cold ground against his knee, and began to pick the lock. 

It took barely thirty seconds. He gave a short laugh as the ancient door clicked open. “The dude’s asking to get robbed,” he sneered, pushing open the door. He cringed as it creaked loudly... and jingled the bell over his head. 

_Shit, shit, shit... did he hear...?_ he wondered, staying stock still in the doorframe for a moment. He heard nothing upstairs. The inky darkness of the bookshop consumed everything, so impenetrable that he wondered if it really had been the windows that were the problem earlier. He let out a long sigh of relief, taking a step inside. _Must be a heavy sleeper. That, or he’s dead. Either’s fine._

He grabbed his torch from his pocket, twirling the cold metal in his hand for a moment before clicking it on. He shone it around the shop for a cursory look. Shelves, shelves, and more shelves, with books stacked in all the spaces in-between. He grimaced. Navigating that quietly would be a right faff. He’d better hope old Fell really had died in his sleep, or he’d risk getting caught red-handed. Something shiny caught his eye as he turned his wrist. He turned back, his greedy eyes searching for whatever had gleamed under the torchlight.

Scales. He blinked, swallowing hard. The thin tip of a snake’s tail sat innocuously by a stack of books, vanishing into the shadows to his left. With bated breath, he carefully moved the torch across the room, tracking that sinuous body over the floor, around a few more stacks, his horror quickly mounting as the body grew thicker and thicker. This thing was a monster! He found its head at the foot of a shelf. He gasped, stunned by the way his heart jolted at the sight of those huge yellow eyes. He and the serpent stared at one another for a long moment. Its tongue flickered out. He stayed still, fearful of any sudden movements... The snake put its head close to the ground, and slithered through a door at the back which had been left ajar. Joe watched it, mesmerised, until its tail vanished into the other room. Heart pounding, he kept scanning the room, and his torch quickly landed on the next unseen hazard. This time, it was fur. 

He choked. The light glinted in the eyes of the enormous grey dog sat by the counter, watching him with savage hunger. As soon as it saw Joe’s eyes widen in shock, it got to its paws. Its lip curled into a broad, snarling grin that contrasted starkly against its shaggy coat. He could’ve sworn he saw red in those eyes. He shrunk back. 

“H - Hey there, boy... uh... good dog,” he stammered, groping behind him, desperate to find the doorknob, but with the sickening certainty in his gut that if he dared turn his back, the dog would fly for him. The beam of light shook in tandem with the tremor in his arm. The beast - one might have even been tempted to call it a hound - stood up, its hackles rising. A bark ripped from its throat. Joe startled, desperate to run, but rooted to the spot. 

From the sheer darkness, a hand reached out, landing gently on the dog’s head. Joe blanched. A small part of his mind still wondered how much the gold signet ring on its pinky would be worth. “Rover, sit,” said a prim, English voice. 

Rover sat. He wasn’t happy about it, though.

Joe hesitantly raised his torch. Those dark scales had returned, shining like silk as they sat heavily on top of the tartan dressing-gown which clothed the newcomer. The light followed the coils up until cold blue eyes finally met his. It was him. The sourness of Mr Fell’s expression did perfect justice to the horror stories online. Somehow, even in his pyjamas, he was far more intimidating than the snake which rested its head on his shoulder, or the dog whose head he tenderly stroked to prevent any gratuitous throat-ripping. He was a Principality, first and foremost, even if he was wearing his slippers. His corporation was only ever a thin veil, and no human could deny the soul-wrenching terror they felt when Aziraphale’s true form began to lean heavily on that thin divide, with that screaming-wheel-of-fire-and-fury silently threatening to rip through. It made for a state-of-the-art home security system. Joe quailed, his hand finally finding the doorknob behind him. 

“Um. Um,” he said, his heart fluttering erratically. Mr Fell arched his brow, unamused. “I’ll just... go.”

He wrenched the door open, taking off down the street as fast as his legs would carry him over the frosty tarmac. Aziraphale sighed, shaking his head in exasperation. He gave Rover one last affectionate scratch behind the ear before making his way over to the door, shutting it, muttering about letting the cold in. He flicked the lock shut again. 

“Humans these days,” he said, tutting. “No respect.”

**Author's Note:**

> Apologies for the lack of proof reading but I hope you enjoyed anyway. I’d love some nice comments to keep me entertained during quarantine, if you’ve got a moment to leave one <3
> 
> PS. If anyone enjoyed the Carlton and Wilson series of OPVs, please check out my other story “Omens of Another Kind” which is an actual full-blown fairy AU which I’m working on at the moment. All my love <3


End file.
